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On Christmas eve the room came alive with a synthetic blue light, then went dormant again. More light. Darkness.
Sam rolled over to see her cell phone vibrating on the nightstand, sending ripples through the glass of water beside it. Incoming call: Mrs. Washington. When Sam noticed the time, nearly midnight, she sat up straight as though she’d been dunked in an ice bath. She grappled for her phone, then,
“Hello? Mrs. Washington? Is everything alright?”
“Oh, Sam… I’m sorry it’s so late.”
“No—No, I’m up. Is something wrong? Josh?”
She was hardly guessing. The only thing she and Melinda Washington ever spoke of anymore was Josh. The only reason Melinda had her number was Josh.
This had started several months ago, when the twins’ case had gone cold and Josh had started drinking more than ever. And Sam couldn’t stand to see him that way, increasingly reclusive. Increasingly dead-eyed. Increasingly alone.
The first time Sam had ever asked to meet him for coffee alone, she’d told herself it had been because of Hannah. Alive or not, Hannah was her best friend, and best friends didn’t let each other’s brothers suffer alone. It had been only Hannah, she told herself then and the days after and even now. Just Hannah. Not the rare times she’d found herself alone with Josh in the lodge, them winding up in the basement during a party and him teaching her how to shoot billiards, his hands adjusting her arms. There’d been a can of cherry ginger ale on the side of the table—that image was still so potent. Nothing stronger than caffeine. A minifridge in the corner stocked with water and soda.
He’s Hannah’s big brother, she’d said inaudibly, again and again, as he went to grab her a seltzer. She’d barely recognized she was doing it.
On that first coffee meeting, he’d opened up, quietly at first, then more animatedly as they spoke, when she told him that she couldn’t pass the old tennis courts anymore because Hannah was still there in a way that did Sam no good. He told her that he’d felt breathless for so long, crushed under the invisible weight of isolation.
“There’s Chris,” she’d told him. Josh loved his family, loved his family so much that it seemed as though he were always seeking to expand it. Chris was the most obvious example. Sam heard the way Josh spoke to him, the constant “bros,” the nicknames, the sprinkled comments about Chris’s interests—just so Josh could prove again and again he knew them. “He loves you to death.”
Josh’s face had fallen. “Chris… I mean, he really tries and all… but…” He’d laughed dryly. “He’s too mathematical, you know? Everything has a solution. Do a or b. Solve for x. He treats people like that too. He thinks it helps but… I just don’t want solutions. I want to… talk, I guess.” Sam remembered, keenly, how he’d leaned across the table to her. She’d watched his hand, all the corded bracelets on his wrist, tap hers. “But you really get it, Sam. We talk and you get it.”
After that first meeting, Josh had taken to reaching out to her and, usually, that was fine. It was only the late nights after he’d been fighting with his father that got iffy—he’d show up on her doorstep, red-faced and breathing hard. She’d been terrified to let him get back into his car, so he’d crashed on the couch.
Eventually Sam and Melinda had exchanged numbers; Sam felt herself getting used as a safety net, a lifeline, a place for the Washingtons to send Josh when tensions flared at home, the first person to check when he was missing. She didn’t care. At the end of the day, it did keep him safe.
“Is he with you?
Sam turned her attention back to the call. “No,” she said quietly. “He’s missing?”
“I just woke up and went to check on him and… No. No, I can’t find him anywhere.”
Propping her phone up with her shoulder, Sam got out of bed and padded to her closet for her clothes. “I can check a few places. He’s usually at one of three.”
The line was silent a few seconds before Melinda spoke, very quietly, voice a little crinkly. “I didn’t know that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said hastily, grabbing her jeans off a hanger.
“You’re right. All right…”
“I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Yes, Sam, I really appreciate it”—just as Sam was about to end the call, Melinda made a startled little noise—“Oh, and Merry Christmas, Sam.”
“Merry Christmas. It'll be okay.”
***
The movie theater, the park, and the parking garage across from the mall: those were Josh’s go-to places when he didn’t go to Sam. And Sam found him at the second stop.
He smoked and drank in the park, and that worried Sam. Both were illegal in the best of circumstances, but he was still only twenty, and she could never tell whether he forgot that the laws here were different than at the lodge or he didn’t care.
She spotted him sitting on top of one of the play structures, a large spinnable circle. He leaned against the railing, blowing smoke towards the sky. A crushed can of beer lay at his feet, and there was another open one near his hip.
Sam approached and he raised a hand to her. “Hey, Sammy.” She eased the cigarette from his hand and stamped it out on the ground. She saw a can of Schweppes Black Cherry Ginger Ale in the back of her mind. “Come on now,” she said softly. “You know better.”
“I do and I don’t give a shit,” he muttered. “Jail would occupy me.”
She checked her watch. Exactly midnight.
Sitting down beside him, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s the first Christmas without Han. And Beth.”
He shuddered. His voice was wet when he said, “I always started making them things in August. Like one year, there was a music box for Hannah. Fuck me, it was a pain in the ass. There was all the gear work, and I got a note engraved. Last year, I took a shop elective so that I could make Beth a hockey stick.”
“So the last few months have felt a little empty…”
“I’ve kept my hands busy with another project. It’s—” For an evanescent moment, he seemed almost guilty. But he shook the expression off. “Never mind, you’ll see it eventually.”
She didn’t press. “I know it’s been hard lately. But… Merry Christmas, Josh.”
He didn’t say anything but rested his head on top of hers. The smell of smoke was heavy on him. “It’s almost a new year, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”
“There’s college. When you’re up for it.”
He shook his head. “Not for a long time. I was using it as a way to… To get well, I guess? Like chipping away at a cinder block. But then I got… like a whole truckload dumped on me. It’s overwhelming.”
“You know,” she said, selecting her words carefully, “I was always surprised that you went into psych. Film is what makes you happy. I see it.”
He scoffed, but it wasn’t at her—at Fate or whatever else he blamed for his situation. “I got sick of not knowing anything about anyone. I don’t even get my own brain. I went through this whole thing called IPT, and my therapist sometimes told me things about people that were interesting and—well, I thought I could cut out the middle man, you know? I got really tired of it. I mean, having to ask and ask and verify everything I ever thought with Dr. Hill—and making people as visibly happy as possible so there was no room to… to wonder? I don’t know what I was even looking for? A map? A damn answer key? Like if someone blinks three times, that means I need to give a compliment, and we’re cool? I don’t know what I thought. Like it would be easy if we were all computers?”
“I’m sorry, Josh.”
He sighed. “Nah, it’s weird.” He chuckled. “I sounded a lot like Chris there, didn’t I? But like I said… Now, there’s just a whole fuckton of concrete. It’s too much to chip. I just want to talk.”
Sam stood. “Hey, let’s walk around. How about it?”
Josh tossed the cans into a nearby trash bin, the cigarette into a butt disposal a few blocks later. As they walked, he flipped the top of his lighter again and again. They came to the shops, they passed by strings of golden lights, a bright Santa waving back and forth on the roof of a furniture store, and a cluster of fluorescent snowmen in a boutique window. Most of the places were closed, but Sam liked looking at the decorations. This part of California never got snow, but businesses put their own LED icicles under the eaves.
At last they came upon a 7-Eleven which was fully lit within, its slushy machines still turning. An attendant sat at the desk, rubbing scratch cards with a quarter.
“What did you do to deserve this shift?” Josh asked as they came in. Sam was always impressed at how easily he could change demeanors, regain his easy-going drawl, like flipping a switch. It was quite the talent.
“Made the naughty list,” the man responded, without missing a beat. “What about you two?”
“Eh, Christmas is rough this year,” said Josh before Sam could say anything. She only watched, holding her breath a little.
At that, the man put his quarter down. “I feel that. Real reason for the shift—usually I’m up with my wife. A little decaf, a little Irish cream—that was our tradition. She had a heart attack this past October. I needed something to keep me busy.”
“Well it’s a healthier cope than what I had in mind,” admitted Josh. He cocked a thumb at Sam. “She came and got me before I could figure out how to get jail time.”
The man laughed. “Good gal.” His smile melted slowly. “Can I ask what happened?”
“Lost my little sisters last February.” Josh shot Sam a sideways glance. “In an accident. Been rough.”
The man’s lips parted in shock. “Man, kid…”
Josh shook his head. “Just gotta keep living, ya know?”
Sam stared at him, with a little fascination she didn’t want to admit. He really was hard to read sometimes—she couldn’t blame Chris for not always sensing his rhythms, even after their near-ten years of friendship.
“Right…” The man looked down at his scratch card then beamed. “Hey, it’s a winner. Tell ya what”—he took the card then counted twenty dollars from the register—“Get a little pick me up. For the lady too.”
“No, really. I have plenty of money, trust—” Josh cut himself off. He stared at the wrinkled bill as the man placed it into his hand, then offered a smile that lit his eyes a little, just a spark then gone. Like his lighter. “Thanks.”
Together, he and Sam went to the back of the convenience store where he poured himself a coffee, and she filled a cup with raspberry slushy. They stopped back at the desk so Josh could give the man the change when the door swung open. Sam almost didn’t bother to look, but a piece of her was curious to see who else could be out so early on Christmas.
She blinked with surprise. “Chris?”
He stood beneath the fluorescent overhead lights, his cheeks ruddy. Under a big coat, he wore a plain, grey shirt and plaid pajama pants. Catching his breath, he gestured to Sam. “You… forgot to call Mrs. Washington back.”
With a jerk, Sam fished around in her bag until she found her phone. 7 missed calls.
“Shit.”
“So,” said Chris. “She called me. I called you. Then I called some other people. Then, I remembered I still have find-my-friend set up. Remember that con from, like, three years ago?”
“The one you dragged me to?” Then, “Who else did you call?”
He gave a sly smile and placed one hand against a shelf, leaning. “Want to go? It’s Christmas, guys. We can do better than cheap coffee.” He eyed the attendant. “No offense.”
“You think I have a loyalty to this place?”
Josh laughed. “See ya, man. Thanks for everything.”
The man crossed his arms. “Merry Christmas, kids.”
***
Sam was certain Chris knew that Josh, beneath his currently chipper exterior, was in a rough state. But Chris kept the mood high as they piled into Sam’s mother’s car, which she’d borrowed in a rush—ask for forgiveness, not permission—and headed towards the Washingtons’ home. He cracked jokes from the back seat, leaning against Josh’s chair. Sam glanced at him from the rear-view mirror. This was so… Chris. He was aware enough. Sam saw it in certain flickers of his blue eyes. But he kept his head above deep water and kept treading, treading, like if he never looked down into the depths, it would be impossible for anyone to ever drown. But, just as they pulled onto their street, he did eye the abyss, a little.
“Do you need anything?” he asked Josh. “It’s gotta be a hard Christmas.”
Josh hesitated. “I want you to come in. We can—wait. Who is that?”
Three figures stood outside the gate which encircled the Washingtons’ house. Two of them had shopping bags clutched in both hands.
When Sam’s headlights fell onto the drive as a wash of buttery glow, the silhouettes were illuminated.
“So those calls I made…” said Chris with a grin as Ashley, Emily, and Jessica came into view.
Sam parked and she, Chris, and Josh made their way to the others. Emily raised an eyebrow at the cup of convenience store coffee still in Josh’s hand.
“Oh, we can do better than that.”
“That’s what I told him!” said Chris, prompting Emily to turn to him and wrinkle her nose.
“Are you in your pajamas?”
“Uh duh? It’s like midnight.”
“Okay? Doesn’t mean you can’t look presentable in public. I got up for this too.”
“Hey, be glad I don’t sleep naked.”
Jess snorted, and Ashley covered her face with her hands.
“Well I have all sorts of remedies in here,” Emily said, jostling the bags.
“Emily and I bought all our presents last week,” Jessica explained.
Discretely, Sam eyed the two of them. Chris kept his chin above water, but these two floated on waves. Ever since the night at the lodge, Sam had sensed something brewing under the surface, a sort of turbulence that she worried would hit a boiling point. She saw it in the tense glares they exchanged, a little more common now. But, for now, it seemed, they’d hit the storm’s eye. Or maybe they were clutching onto a life raft, wishing desperately that all would pass.
“Hey…” said Ashley cautiously, tilting her head towards Josh. “Is it really alright that… we’re here? I mean we’re probably not your parents’ favorite people after… after last February."
“It’s not your fault.” Josh’s voice was low. Again, Sam caught that prick of guilt in his gaze that seemed to scab over and fade entirely before she was even sure she’d really noticed it. “We’re good… Really, I’d like you all to come in. It’ll be cool.”
***
So they did, setting up a large lounge area for a dark Christmas morning of video games and snacks, while Josh went to tell his parents he was home.
“Ooooo!” said Chris, grabbing a bottle of sparkling apple cider off the table. “Who brought this?”
“I did, you dip. Wait a sec,” said Jessica, swiping it from his hand. She glanced up as Josh came strolling back through the door. “Here, everyone change. Me and Emily need to see if everything fits.”
By the time everyone had tried on their gifts, Jessica and Emily had set up drinks and snack platters. Sam padded into the lounge in red tights and a houndstooth dress. She chuckled when she saw Chris and Josh in similar sweaters, the kind with dress collars and cuffs sewn into the fabric.
“How do I look?” said Chris with an exaggerated drawl. “Important day down at the yacht, you know.”
“You sound so waspy.” Ashley giggled.
“You were wearing pajamas,” Emily reminded him. “Anything is an improvement. Anyway, I know I’m kind of the village bitch, but you can’t say I don’t take care of you all.”
“Geez, though,” said Josh. “A little forewarning, and I would have had your gifts wrapped.”
Emily waved him off. “I’ll come to collect eventually.”
“All my gifts are digital now. It’s the modern era,” Chris said, taking a seat on the couch. “You should have gotten some tickets to that downtown fashion museum.”
“Yeah. That was thoughtful.”
Josh switched on the game system and it flashed to life with cartoon colors. Sam sat behind him on the couch. His new sweater was soft against her arm. He was warm and, now that the smoke scent from earlier was fading, she could only smell the cup of sparkling cider in his hand. There it was again—that can of cherry ginger ale… weak and sweet, there, vivid on the canvas of her memories.
Sam, Josh, Ashley, Chris, Jessica, and Emily played until grey dawn broke through the gap in the curtains. It came to them in the form of downy light, and Sam realized she did not want it. Let the night stretch a little longer because…
She saw Jessica and Emily at a steady truce, still holding steady to the bond that had begun to fray. There was Chris and Josh and Ashley, laughing as they one-upped each other in Mario Cart.
Will things ever be this good again? Sam cringed away from the thought.
Eventually, Melinda Washington came in, warm towards Sam and Chris and cooler toward the others. Chris kept his head above the waves, Emily and Jess fought them. Melinda waited for the whole ocean to freeze over then skated cautiously across. Still, she invited everyone to stay, to grasp for a few hours of sleep before a Christmas brunch.
***
Sam, without thinking, headed towards Hannah’s bedroom. That’s where she’d used to stay whenever she slept over, not in the guest rooms with the others, but tucked under the blankets with Hannah as they whispered and laughed, and Sam forced herself not to ask the questions about Josh she really wanted to know.
She arrived at the room, hesitated then stepped inside. It was similar to Hannah’s bedroom back at the lodge—damask wallpaper, gold and pink; all the butterflies and horses and owls; the vanity still strewn with potions and wands and elixirs. Silently, she approached the vanity where a porcelain doll with a delicately painted face sat. Hannah had collected these; Sam had given her this one. But she frowned, looking at the clothing which she didn’t recognize: wooden shoes and a pink dress with black filigree. Gently, she felt the fabric and found it—Happy Christmas, love Josh—sewn into the fabric. She saw it carved into the heel of one tiny shoe.
Sam felt a weight fall within her and her breath came out as a deep, trembling gasp. She didn’t know if she had any one way to cope with high waters. But, just now, she was drowning.
“Hey.”
She turned to see Josh approaching, and she quickly placed the doll back, trying to form some apology. But he shook his head adamantly. “It’s good.”
The dawn had gone gold.
“Thanks,” he said at last, “for coming to get me.”
“One of us always will,” she told him.
“I’ll hold you to that.” They were close now. Barely considering it, she went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
The tender dawn was scorching, burning up a night that Sam wasn’t ready to part with. She had a vague sense that each torched day would bring them closer to… No, further away from the twins, from nights like these ones, from times when they all knew how to swim.